


Just Another Fool

by Aequoreavictoria



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Con, 221B Con Flash Fic, Flash Fic, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-07 14:56:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18412952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aequoreavictoria/pseuds/Aequoreavictoria
Summary: 221B Con Flashfiction 2019Prompts were Greg Lestrade, John Watson, Speedys and “I need….”





	Just Another Fool

**Author's Note:**

> 221B Con Flashfiction 2019
> 
> Prompts were Greg Lestrade, John Watson, Speedys and “I need….”

“What’s up, mate? I appreciate the coffee and all but you look like a man with something on his mind.”

John, uncharacteristically abashed, bobbed his head. “Ya, well, it’s um….”

“C’mon mate, crimes await. I haven’t got all day.” Greg’s Lestrade’s tone belied his words. He didn’t sound annoyed, if anything, he sounded slightly sympathetic.

“It’s about Sherlock,” blurted John.

“Ah,” Greg said slowly, weariness creeping into his voice. 

It must have showed on his face too because John hastened to add, “No, no, not like that! Uh… the opposite in fact. I’m happier with Sherlock than I’ve ever been in my life, Greg!”

John paused, “It’s just that I can’t tell if he likes me. I mean, I know he likes me, loves me in fact. We sorted a lot of that stuff out when he got back from Serbia…” 

John began to blush but he continued doggedly. “I mean is he attracted to me, like physically attracted? Sometimes I think so but then I hit a brick wall. It’s driving me crazy and, well… you’ve known him the longest… I mean I can’t ask Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson already thinks we are a couple and so um ya… uh, I just wondered if you might… it would help me if… I need you to…” John trailed off. 

Greg sat silently. John, the anxiety he’d been feeling for days beginning to drain away now that he had done it − finally gotten up his nerve to express his feelings about Sherlock aloud, allowed the rattle of coffee cups, the chatter of patrons and the odor of wet umbrellas wash over his senses in a soothing wave. Speedy’s was busy for a Monday morning.

As Greg’s silence drew out, John, his attention back at hand, sighed. Greg was obviously uncomfortable with his request. He kicked himself. What a stupid idea this had been! What had he been thinking?! Sherlock had said from the beginning that he wasn’t interested in that sort of relationship with John. And yet… John hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that sometimes Sherlock… with a look or an occasional light touch was perhaps communicating something different… just maybe. After all, their awkward conversation at Angelo’s about dating had been over three years ago...

John had stopped attempting to date months ago. There was no point. Sherlock was endlessly creative in finding ways to send John’s hapless dates flouncing down the stairs and out of the flat in a huff, if John was foolish enough to invite them over. If he wasn’t, Sherlock would simply show up at whatever venue John had chosen for his date and wreak his havoc there.

At first John had been annoyed, angry even. Eventually however, his own feelings for Sherlock growing, he’d started to wonder if there was something more to it than what he had judged to be childish petulance on Sherlock’s part. Was it possible that Sherlock’s behaviour was the result of real pain, pain that came from tender feelings that Sherlock was struggling with? If it was anyone else John simply would have asked. But Sherlock was not a man you simply asked something like that. 

Thus here John was, sitting awkwardly in front of Greg, like some school boy asking his big brother for relationship advice. John was beginning to feel like a true idiot. 

It was infuriating! He was ‘three-continent Watson’ for heaven’s sake! Damn the man! Damn his cheekbones! Damn that coat collar! Damn those dark curls! Most of all, damn that bloody purple shirt!

John was so deep in morose self-contemplation that he started when Greg finally cleared his throat. 

Here it comes John thought, the sympathetic chiding, the kindly advice to ‘give his head a shake’ and look elsewhere for that sort of relationship…

“It just so happens,” Greg announced slowly, “that not a week ago another bloke was sitting in front of me in this very café asking me the very same question.”

“Someone else is in love with Sherlock?” 

Of course they were, there were probably self-help groups all over London; ‘Sherlocked Annonymous’ meetings held daily… John sank into his gloomy ruminations again. 

Greg leaned across the table and looked him straight in the eye, “No, you daft idiot. I mean Sherlock. Sherlock wanted my opinion about your feelings for him. He demanded I drop everything and rush over. I thought another bloody serial-killer was on the loose. You two are the limit!”

Greg grinned at him but John almost missed it. He was up and out of his chair so fast he nearly sent it toppling. He dashed out of Speedy’s to tug open the door of 221B and disappear up the stairs. 

Lestrade’s grin widened. He lifted his coffee cup. He had a question for Sherlock about a current case but he’d wait a few minutes before making his way upstairs to the flat.


End file.
